


Beetlejuice Drabbles

by stinkyworms



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24970336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stinkyworms/pseuds/stinkyworms
Summary: Bunch of Beetlejuice (the Musical) drabbles I don't know what to do with.Tags will be updated as I go along.
Relationships: Beetlejuice & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz, Lydia Deetz & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland
Comments: 43
Kudos: 86





	1. What I know now

The Maitlands were not Beetlejuice’s first attempt at escape from his curse. They weren’t his second, or third, or tenth, or hundredth, either. People died all the time. Death was a constant looming companion to the humans that walked the Earth, and it was hardly difficult to find someone whose time was nearly up. Then it was a matter of waiting. And Beetlejuice had a lot of practice at waiting. Waiting was easy.

The hard part came after their deaths. Death tended to get people stressed, emotions were high, and helping out a demon were pretty low on most people’s list of priorities. Beetlejuice had lost track of how many failed attempts there had been. But he had learned a _lot_ in the last few centuries. And with each failed attempt, he was getting closer and closer.

First, toss out The Handbook. That was the most important step, and he had learned that pretty quickly. Humans loved rules, Beetlejuice knew, and finding out that they should head to the Netherworld usually made for a pretty quick failure. Even knowing about the _existence_ of the Netherworld often made humans too curious to stick around for long. Better not to tell them at all. Make them think that eternity trapped at the location of their death was their only option. That way, they were more open to listening to him.

Additionally, when the new ghosts proved themselves to be yet another failure, Beetlejuice could leave them there, trapped forever, and that small amount of revenge felt good.

Next, he couldn’t show himself immediately. Humans usually took a while to figure out they were dead. But letting them come to the conclusion themselves was better than waking up to Beetlejuice hovering over them ready to give them the bad news. Beetlejuice was good at being scary. It was something he prided himself on, in fact.

He was pretty bad at being friendly, however. And multiple, _multiple,_ failed attempts where he had jumped out on people too soon had taught him to be patient. If he put them off too much initially, they wouldn’t trust them. This was something he was still working on, because humans were hard to predict and he wasn’t always sure how to interact with them. The suit helped though, he thought. He’d adopted it at some point in the 1980’s, and it made him look professional, trustworthy. Less like a demon, more like a human.

Cherry picking specific humans with specific traits tended to get him further than just randomly showing up to the nearest newlydead. This had taken Beetlejuice the longest to figure out. Sick people and old people had often accepted their deaths, and had all their affairs in order. They’d complain to him that they just wanted to ‘move on’ or some other bullshit they had picked up from religion or movies. They were usually pretty hard to convince to stick around, even without The Handbook.

Accidental, unpredictable, deaths were better. That left ghosts with unfinished business. And Beetlejuice could promise to help with that.

Side note: do not pick people with cats. Cats can see ghosts, and they do _not_ like them.

Furthermore, the location of the death was a big factor. Obvious places to look for death were not, actually, ideal. Hospitals and warzones were a no-go. Too many other ghosts in one place meant too much room for outside interference. For this to work, the ghosts had to _rely_ on Beetlejuice, he had to be their only option.

Houses worked best, as cliché as it was. Homes were important to humans, it was their safe space. The idea that someone else was invading their home _terrified_ humans, both living and dead. Living humans didn’t want to live in a haunted house. And ghosts didn’t want some new, unknown humans living in their home.

That was important too, the ghosts had to have no relatives who might inherit the house from them. Nobody wanted to scare their own spouse, or grandkids. Humans were usually pretty big on the idea of family, for some reason. But a complete and total stranger? That’s fine. Fuck them.

And the Maitlands, the Maitlands were _perfect._ They were going to die, together, in their own home, with no one to come and inherit it. And they cared _so much_ about the house. They had taken an entire week just to choose between two different wallpapers for the living room. They spent _months_ doing home improvements. They _built their own furniture._ Beetlejuice couldn’t wait to watch the furniture get thrown out, for the improvements to go unappreciated, for the wallpaper to get torn down. It was going to _destroy them._

And then, they _had_ to come crawling to Beetlejuice for help.

It wasn’t like he hated the Maitlands or anything. In fact, he liked them a _lot._ They were a lot of fun to watch. They were sweet, and funny, and endlessly stressed about _another_ project they had started but probably wouldn’t finish. Beetlejuice liked to sit with them on the couch, and pretend he was part of the conversation as Barbara would gripe about her day at work while Adam would interrupt to read out crossword clues he was stuck on. Barbara was better at the crossword than Adam. Beetlejuice rarely knew any of the answers, which didn’t matter because they couldn’t hear his guesses anyway.

And he got to watch some really nice sex.

Point is, he liked the Maitlands. He had been extremely confident they would be great (work) friends. Maybe even _regular_ friends. And once they were friends, they would _want_ to help him out, right?

But here they stood. Dead. In the attic of their own house, being _fucking useless._ They weren’t even _listening_ to him.

Beetlejuice had tried this game too many times to know when not to continue it. He knew a pair of failed attempts when he saw them. He was used to failure. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, though. He’d had a lot of hope for these two, and it was going to take a _lot_ of moping to get over this one. At least he would get his usual revenge of letting them fester in their own home for all eternity. He was going to the roof.


	2. Night one of the Juicening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens immediately after Lydia summons Beetlejuice. Mostly fluff.

“Looks like we’re not invisible _anymore,”_ Beetlejuice shouted at the top of his lungs, dragging her into a one-armed hug.

His excitement was infectious, and Lydia felt herself laughing properly for the first time in months. Beetlejuice was laughing too, although it was a weird, hoarse sound that didn’t seem to really belong on a person. She looked up to see a look of manic ecstasy on his face, his small fangs visible as he opened his mouth. He was practically vibrating.

She started to wriggle out of his grasp, which had become overly tight on her arm. He let her go without issue, turning and running towards the large window that overlooked the front yard, putting his hands on either side of the window frame.

“Check it out, Lydia,” He said, beckoning her over with a tilt of his head, “They’re _running away.”_

Lydia came to join him at the window, ducking under one of his arms so she could get a good view. He was right, she couldn’t see her dad or Delia, but she caught the tail end of all those horrible lawyers scrambling to get into their cars. By the way they all slammed on the acceleration when they left, they were pretty scared. Beetlejuice barked out another harsh laugh when one of the cars stalled in the mud of the driveway.

The two striped arms on either side of her closed in, too fast for Lydia to duck out of, and wrapped around her waist in a tight hug. He lifted her off the ground and the world spun as he twirled them back to the centre of the living room. She laughed and kicked out her legs.

“We make _such_ a good team,” He said, and his breath was ice cold on the top of her head.

As quickly as he’d picked her up, he dropped her unceremoniously back down. Lydia managed to keep her balance as she stumbled away from him. It was ungraceful, as the horrible heavy layered fabric of the dress Delia had made her wear weighed her down. She looked down at it, frowning.

“This dress is _hideous_ ,” She said.

Beetlejuice held up his hands, framing her between his thumb and forefingers. He seemed to be deep in thought for a moment, squinting with his lips pursed, until inspiration apparently hit him and he flicked out a hand. The fabric around her shifted, the top layer of the dress shedding and the hideous yellow colour melting down onto the floor. It left her with something much more lightweight, and comfortable, and more _her._ There was just one problem.

“Lose the stripes,” She said, raising an eyebrow.

“ _What?_ ” He said, sounding sincerely upset, “Stripes are cool.”

Lydia didn’t have to heart to tell him she thought they looked really stupid.

“Yeah,” She said, changing tact, “But they’re _your_ thing. I have my own carefully cultivated aesthetic, and the colour white does not factor into it.”

He grumbled out a _‘fine’_ and twitched his fingers, and the white stripes faded into the same black as the rest of the dress. She smiled and twirled, enjoying the feeling of being liberated from the horrible yellow thing she had been wearing all night, and that softened his expression.

Her stomach gurgled, bringing her attention to the entire spread of food waiting for her in the adjacent dining room. She started walking towards it, and Beetlejuice watched her intensely, ducking his head to get a look at her face as she went by. She could feel him following close behind her as she continued into the dining room. The whole thing would be really creepy, if she was scared of him at all.

“What are you doing?” He asked, curiosity evidently winning out.

“I’m starving,” She explained, “And it would be shame to waste all this lovely food my dad worked so hard on preparing.”

The dining room was a mess. It had been hit with whatever transformation magic Beetlejuice had used on the living room, and Lydia suspected the rest of the house. The furniture had been warped and twisted, the fixtures now jutting out at asymmetric angles and curled striped horns sprouting from them at various angles. To her dismay, a good portion of the food and drink had been spilled onto the floor.

Lydia managed to scavenge together a plate of shrimp and salad from what remained on the buffet table, and sat down. Beetlejuice sat opposite her, still staring at her with his head tilted to one side. She guessed that was something she was probably going to have to get used to. She picked up a fork and got started on her salad, noticing that Beetlejuice seemed to relax a little when she did and finally looked away from her.

She watched as he pulled one of the abandoned dinner plates towards himself and sniffed at the large helping of plain salad on it. _Probably Delia’s_ , Lydia thought with a smirk.

“Do you need to eat?” She asked.

“I don’t _need_ to do anything,” Beetlejuice said.

He scooped up a large amount of salad leaves with one hand and shoved them into his mouth. Lydia tried not to laugh with her own mouth full as he chewed, thoughtfully, his face slowly screwing up in disgust. He opened his mouth with a ‘ _Bleh’_ and spat out a chewed-up wad of green goo back onto the plate, little saliva trails dripping from his mouth to the offending object.

“Oh my _god,_ you’re so gross,” Lydia said, suddenly put off her own food.

He smiled at her, showing rows of sharp teeth with more mashed up salad stuck in them while drool dripped down his chin. The sight was disgusting, and Lydia threw a shrimp at him, bullseyeing him on the nose and hitting him with a splatter of balsamic vinegar.

She knew her mistake as soon as she saw the glint of mischief in his eye. She had seconds to react, diving off her chair onto the floor and narrowly avoiding the half-eaten salad projectile that rocketed towards her and hit the wall with a _splat._ Beetlejuice dived in the opposite direction, and she lost sight of him through the tablecloth. Her hand found a plate of mashed potato, and she scooped some up, heart beating fast.

There was a tense silence, and Lydia counted to 3. On three, she jumped up, mashed potato readied. Beetlejuice jumped up at the same time, empty hands extended towards her, and an evil grin on his face. Lydia’s eyes widened as an unseen forced grabbed hold of her wrist and forced her hand to smush the cold potato into her own face. Beetlejuice immediately descended into hysterical laughter, clutching at the table to steady himself.

“Not fair!” She yelled at him, but she was laughing too.

Before she could start to formulate a revenge plan, an angry ‘ _Ahem’_ brought both of their attention back to the living room. There stood Adam and Barbara. They were both clearly going for ‘intimidating’ but were falling a little short of the mark, especially because Adam was not-so-subtly hiding behind his wife.

Lydia felt a pang of sympathy for them. They obviously cared about her enough to worry for her safety, even if they didn’t understand that this is exactly what she wanted. She moved around the table, wanting to go them and assuage their fears, but Beetlejuice shot out a hand and stopped her with a firm grasp on her shoulder. He was making a low growling noise, deep in his throat. She noticed the roots of his hair were slowly turning red.

“Lydia!” Barbara shouted out to her, but her voice was wobbly with fear, “Don’t worry, we can still fix this. Just get away from him and--.”

“I’m fine here,” Lydia said, feeling annoyed at them, “Getting dad out of the house was the _whole plan,_ remember?”

“She’s fine here,” Beetlejuice echoed, voice low.

“No, she’s… No, you’re not fine here, Lydia,” Barbara pleaded, “He’s clearly not safe, this isn’t good for you.”

Oh. So now they were going to preach what was _good for her?_ Lydia felt her annoyance bubble into anger. Barbara was doing the exact same condescending bullshit that all adults did. They were all the same. And she was _sick_ of them all telling her what to do. Nobody knew what was good for her. None of them understood her.

She looked up at Beetlejuice, who was smirking back at her. He looked like he was waiting for permission. Vaguely, she wondered if he could sense how angry she was. She nodded at him, and his smile widened, showing all his teeth again.

Beetlejuice turned back to the Maitlands, his eyes narrowing. He looked predatory, and Lydia wondered if she’d made a mistake. _He didn’t hurt anyone before,_ she reasoned in her head _, And they’re already dead, it’s not like he can hurt them._

Beetlejuice clicked one of his heels against the floor, and a loud creaking sound echoed out from under them. Both of the Maitlands immediately gripped each other, looking down at the wooden floorboards. Lydia could hear Beetlejuice panting besides her, and the cold hand on her shoulder tightened its grip. The floor around the Maitlands began to collapse, the floorboards _wrenching_ and twisting away and leaving nothing but a black void in their wake.

Adam yelled and skittered back, pulling Barbara with him as the hole that was forming in the middle of the living room expanded out towards them. They looked _horrified,_ Lydia noted with satisfaction. It’ll teach them to talk to her like she was a naïve little kid.

“GET _OUT,”_ Beetlejuice yelled at the Maitlands, so loud it hurt Lydia’s ears, and his voice reverberated around the room.

Adam and Barbara didn’t need to told twice, and they both bolted up the stairs.

Beetlejuice let go of her shoulder, and the floorboards started to return back to their original positions. But he didn’t relax, exactly, he was still staring up at the stairs. He was twitching slightly, and that raspy growl was still emanating from his throat. It sounded like it hurt.

“Thanks,” Lydia threw her arms around him, sinking into his surprisingly soft torso.

He smelled terrible, like rotten meat and dirt and cigarette smoke, but she held onto him until she felt the tension leave him. Slowly, a hand came up to rest on her back. Before anything could get embarrassingly tender, however, she took the opportunity to rub all the mashed potato on her face into his shirt.

“Oh you are _so_ going to pay for that,” He said, laughing, as she wrenched herself out of his grip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me at hellminth.tumblr.com !


	3. Banished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beetlejuice finds out hes getting banished

“They’re banishing you,” Juno said.

She stubbed her cigarette against the brim of the glass ashtray on her desk, which was already overflowing with ash and stubs. The smoke was thick in the air, and it was making Beetlejuice’s already pounding headache a lot worse.

He was barely dressed for the occasion, still wearing the suit he had chosen to go out in last night. He hadn’t had time to get changed before he was unceremoniously dragged into his mother’s office shortly after waking up from the drug-induced coma he had fallen into. Some of the buttons on his shirt were mysteriously missing, and he clutched it closed with one hand, hoping his mother wouldn’t notice. His eyelids felt heavy, his mind clouded over, and his mother’s words barely registered in his brain.

“What?” He said.

His voice was even more gruff than usual, and the word hurt in his already strained throat. He ran a tongue across his teeth and swallowed thickly, mouth dry.

His mother sighed and opened a drawer in her desk. She reached in and pulled out a packet of pills and an empty glass tumbler. She banged the tumbler against the wood of her desk, harder than necessary, and the sound made Beetlejuice flinch as it hit his ears, a pang of pain running through his head. He blinked, hard and slow, and when he reopened his eyes the glass was full of water.

“You’re a fucking mess, Lawrence,” Juno said, pushing the items towards him, “Here.”

Beetlejuice mumbled out a _Thanks,_ and downed both pills in one gulp of water. He swished the rest of the water around his mouth before swallowing, trying to get rid of the thick layer of fuzz that had taken hold. He closed his eyes and concentrated his powers on making the pain of his hangover disappear with the help of the pills. He didn’t open them again until he could feel the cloud of discomfort begin to recede.

His mother waited patiently for him to get himself together, leaning back in her chair and summoning another cigarette between her fingers. She looked calm, the ghost of a smug smile playing at her lips as she watched the realisation dawn on him.

“Banishment? What does that even mean?” Beetlejuice asked.

“You would know if you’d attended your own _hearing,”_ She responded.

Right. That. It wasn’t like he had missed it on purpose. He’d just lost track of time, which was pretty easy to do in the endless twilight of the Netherworld, especially when there were much more appealing ways to spend a night than a stupid court date. It all just seemed like a massive overreaction anyway.

He heard the slap of papers hitting Juno’s desk, and looked up to see a fairly thick stack of them, stapled together. He leant forward to read his own name in bold letters on the front, along with a bunch of official looking stamps. He pulled the stack onto his lap and tried to read, turning to random pages, but there was a bunch of legal jargon he wasn’t really sure of. The phrase _conditional exile_ caught his eye, and he felt his stomach sinking.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” He said, “I was trying to _help_ people.”

“Oh, now it was because he was acting _selfless_ ,” Juno said, the anger in her voice rising, “You and I both know that’s a lie, don’t even try it.”

Beetlejuice heard her chair scrape across the floor, and he looked up to see her standing and rounding the desk so she was directly in front of him. She towered over him, and he felt small. The smell of cigarette smoke was becoming unbearable. He ducked his head back down and tried to stop his knee from bouncing. The words in front of him were getting harder and harder to understand, and his vision felt unsteady.

“You _really_ don’t grasp how serious this is, do you?” She asked, “Do you know how many times Dispatch have had to be contacted with _poltergeist_ reports? In _this_ century? That was embarrassing enough, Lawrence. And then I find out you’ve been sneaking into the Living World outside of your official duties. Burning Handbooks. _Encouraging_ interactions with breathers. Exorcisms are through the roof. It looks terrible on the whole department. Looks terrible on _me_.”

Beetlejuice stole a glance up at his mother. She looked angry, which wasn’t exactly new in his interactions with her. But by the way her voice wobbled on that last sentence, she was upset. That was new. He felt acidic bile rising in his throat and he crumpled the edges of the papers he was holding in an attempt to keep his hands still.

“Newlydeads don’t always want to come here, Mom,” His voice was quiet when he spoke, “I really am just trying to--.”

She raised her hand and he stopped talking immediately, “We both know _exactly_ what you were trying to do. God, you’re pathetic. Did you really think letting some newlydeads stick around for too long would earn you their… What? Trust? Friendship? _Love?_ ”

The words stung, and Beetlejuice heard a ripping noise. He looked down to see he had accidentally torn right through the papers he was holding. Part of him was too angry to care. His mother tutted.

“Get a hold of yourself,” Juno said, “Acting like a child is _exactly_ what’s gotten you into this mess.”

Beetlejuice grit his teeth to suppress the frustrated growl threatening to rip itself out of his throat. He desperately wanted her to stop talking. Before he knew it, he was on his feet, face mere inches away from hers. He tossed the papers in his hands out and they scattered themselves across her office.

The hand came up to backhand him before he could react. One of her rings caught on the skin of his cheek, and he could feel the familiar pang of pain as the flesh teared. He didn’t bother to heal it immediately, letting a drop of blood build and move down his cheek. It felt like an act of defiance. Beetlejuice’s stared down at the black wooden floorboards, his eyes beginning to sting. There was a moment of tense silence before his mother poked him, hard in the chest.

“For once, you will listen to me right now,” She said, “You’re being banished to the Living World. Indefinitely. And I _hope_ you learn some respect while you’re there.”

“The Living World?” Beetlejuice asked, surprised.

It didn’t sound so bad. He liked the Living World, a lot. Especially the humans. They had been the reason he wanted to be a Guide in the first place. Their lives were endlessly fascinating, and they were even more fun to scare. An eternity in the company of the living sounded preferable to his current situation, even. But a hopeful glance at his mother’s face told him he was missing something.

“Yes,” Juno smirked, finishing off her cigarette by blowing the smoke directly into his face, “The Living World you love _so much._ But they’re stripping you of your powers. You’ll be invisible, and unable to interact with them.”

Oh.

Beetlejuice felt his stomach sinking. The air around him felt heavy, suddenly, threatening to make him buckle under it’s weight. He looked back at his mother, desperately. She had gotten him out of his fuckups before. He needed her to fix this.

“Mom,” He began.

She cut him off by snapping her fingers. He heard the door to her office creak open behind him, and he turned to see that, instead of the familiar corridor that he had come through, it led to a cemetery in what was unmistakably the Living World. Moonlight streamed into the office, bathing them both in a soft blue hue.

“Better get going, I have work to do,” Juno said. She nudged him out of the way so she could get back around her desk and into her chair.

He was all out of chances, then. He knew better than to try and resist his fate. Juno could easily fling him through that door with a flick of her wrist. Better to go with _some_ sort of dignity intact. Beetlejuice slowly shuffled towards it, dragging his feet against the floor, anxiously hoping his mom would call him back. Tell him it was a joke, or that she would help him get the sentence overturned. He paused at the doorway, looking out into the cemetery that awaited him. It looked old, the names on the headstones either worn away or covered in moss.

“Lawrence?” His mother’s voice called out behind him.

He turned back to her, holding on to that one thread of hope. She wasn’t looking at him, already busying herself with filling out paperwork.

“Yes, mom?” He asked.

“If you do find a way to come back here,” She put her pen down and looked him in the eyes, “Don’t.”

She nudged one of her fingers, and he was pushed the extra two feet through the doorway.


	4. Spooky gay rights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia comes out to beej
> 
> OR: I remember why I dont write fluff.

Beetlejuice was beating her at Smash Bros for the first time, ever. He was terrible at video games, he lacked any fine motor skills or the patience to learn and usually resorted to mashing buttons until something happened. Normally, Lydia would focus all her energy into kicking his ass so hard he ragequit, which would often be followed by screaming throughout the house as his tantrum spread from room to room. It was an excellent way to spend a Saturday night. 

However, tonight, Lydia’s heart wasn’t really in it. She had spent the last 40 minutes in a state of low-level anxiety, trying to gather the courage to talk to him about what was on her mind.

She was sat on her bed, with her back against the headboard. Beetlejuice sat below her, on the floor, his tongue sticking out as he concentrated on the game. In his lap was the bowl of popcorn they were supposed to be sharing, but he was the only one to eat anything since their evening began.

The first game he won, he had spent a full 10 minutes gloating, bouncing up and down and doing laps of the room. However, he was now on his fourth consecutive win and seemed to have finally picked up on the fact that something was bothering her. When game declared him the victor yet again, he didn’t cheer, didn’t gloat, didn’t summon a tidal wave of confetti that she would have to spend days cleaning up. Instead, Lydia felt him glance up at her. She tried to stay casual, staring straight ahead at the TV. She resisted the urge to wipe her increasingly sweaty hands on her pyjama pants.

Lydia watched Beetlejuice out the corner of her eye as he picked up the bowl on his lap and poured the last of the popcorn into his mouth. It must have been mostly kernels, because she could hear them crunching between his teeth as he chewed. Then, he was looking at her again. She stole a glance at his face, and he looked worried. Lydia sighed and put her controllers aside, about time she bit the bullet, if someone as emotionally dense as _Beetlejuice_ was starting to notice she was upset. She took a breath.

“How did you know you liked men?” Lydia forced out.

She had spent the whole night trying and failing again and again to ask the question. And now it was out, it seemed to hang in the air like a bad smell. Her heart started beating faster and her palms felt clammy. Beetlejuice glanced at her again, while he picked at his molars with a clawed finger.

“What do you mean?” He asked, around his finger so his voice was even more garbled than usual.

Lydia spluttered. There was no way he didn’t know what she was talking about. The man by his own admission had spent the last however many years with little to do but watch the televisions of people he was ~~stalking~~ haunting, while he waited for the to die. The man was a walking pop culture reference.

Beetlejuice did have an ongoing joke where he pretended he didn’t know what human things were to wind people up. Usually, it was to get out of using shampoo properly. But he never did it with Lydia. Not seriously. She mustered up the courage to look down at him, and his face looked earnest.

She sighed, it’d been hard enough to ask the question the first time, and now he was making her ask again.

“How did you know you were… Gay?” She broke eye contact with him again, focusing on a stray popcorn kernel that had missed his mouth and landed on the curve of his belly.

“I’m not gay,” He said.

He must have followed her eyes to the kernel, because he picked it up and threw it in the air. It bounced off the edge of his mouth and disappeared somewhere under the bed. He made a dramatic groaning noise and dropped his head down, clearly not wanting to expend the energy to go find it.

Lydia could feel her annoyance rising. Having a serious conversation with Beetlejuice was practically impossible on a good day anyway, but she wished he would at least _try._ Especially since, as far as she was aware, everyone else in the house was straight. Except maybe Delia. But she was never going to discuss this with _Delia._

“Bi, or pan, or whatever, then,” Lydia said.

“I’m not--,” Beetlejuice begun, but Lydia cut him off.

“You know what I mean!” She said, flopping down onto her pillows and staring up at the ceiling instead.

This had been a mistake. Of course he wasn’t going to take it seriously. That’s what she got for going to a dead guy for life advice.

Beetlejuice sidled close to the edge of her bed, so his green hair and big yellow eyes were visible in her peripheral vision. He stared at her intensely, doing a great impression of her sleep paralysis demon. _They should exchange numbers_ , Lydia thought dully.

He continued to silently stare at her, and she made the point to ignore him. It was usually the most effective way of either getting Beetlejuice to leave or reassess his behaviour. It seemed to work, too, because he eventually grumbled and shifted where he sat.

“I don’t know,” He said, “It’s not the same where I’m from.”

Lydia turned her head to look at him, “What do you mean?”

“Like, it’s not really a _thing,_ for demons. Everybody… goes both ways in the Netherworld,” He looked like he was having trouble finding the right words, something Beetlejuice rarely took into consideration, and Lydia suspected she was getting the PG-13 version of an explanation, “It never used to be a thing for humans, either, by the way. But now you guys have all these hang-ups over who you can and can’t be with.”

“But you must have demons with… Preferences,” Lydia said, feeling the awkwardness of the conversation increasing.

“Maybe?” Beetlejuice shrugged, “A lot of the time, you don’t really get a choice.”

Lydia wasn’t sure what he was referring to, but she was clearly making him uncomfortable. He’d hunched over and was fiddling with a loose string on his pant leg. She thought it best not to keep prodding at him.

Lydia sat up and slid to the edge of her bed and onto the floor, kicking the popcorn bowl aside so she could be on his level. He shifted so they were facing each other, but his head was down so she could only see a mess of green hair, that was slowly turning violet at the roots. Lydia took a deep breath.

“I think I only like girls,” She said.

It was the first time she’d ever said it out loud, to anyone. It felt weird. Not bad, exactly. Just strange to acknowledge a part of herself she had tried to not think about for the last few years. But now that it was out there, in the open, it felt a lot more real.

Beetlejuice stilled his hands, and raised his head a little so she could see his eyes. He peered at her, then shuffled over to her so he could look at her more closely, and she swallowed nervously. He stared a lot, and Lydia had mostly gotten used to it. It usually meant he was trying to figure out something he didn’t understand. She tried not to fidget under his gaze as he undertook whatever internal assessment he was making in his brain, despite the fact that she wanted to scream at him to hurry up.

Eventually, he spoke, “This is a big deal to you.”

She blanched, “Uh, yeah?”

“Hm,” Beetlejuice said, raising a hand to his chin like he was deep in thought. He looked as nervous as she did. It occurred to her that, given she was his first real friend in who-knows-how-long, he probably wanted to get this right.

Then, suddenly, inspiration seemed to strike him. He raised his arm, bringing it down on one of her shoulders, then the other.

“I accept your lesbianism,” He said, in a bad English accent, face incredibly serious.

Lydia tried to hold back the smile that was tugging at her lips, “Are you… Knighting me?”

“Yes,” He said, deadpan, “It’s an important ritual in the initiation ceremonies of the human LGBT community. The hazing comes later. And let me tell you _now,_ Lyds, you better learn how to hold your drink, because I _saw_ you sneak that wine at Christmas. I told Barbara you went to bed early because of a headache.”

She laughed and slapped his arm, and he immediately relaxed. The tension left his body and his mouth split into a big grin, showing her all his teeth.

Suddenly, he disappeared, and reappeared at her side, an arm slung around her. He pulled her in close to his side and she could smell the popcorn on his breath and see the butter smushed into his stubble.

“So, who’s the lucky lady?” Beetlejuice said. 

Lydia wiggled out of his grasp, which was no mean feat because his grip was like that of a barnacle.

“Nobody, yet,” She said.

He was eyeing the way she was smiling, and she could feel the hot flush of red embarrassment on her cheeks.

“Liar,” He said, then snapped his fingers at her, “Oh, hey, I can give you tips on how to talk to the _ladies_.”

She slowly blinked at him. He blinked back.

“Um, maybe tomorrow, it’s getting late,” Lydia deflected.

“Gotcha,” He winked.

She was genuinely worried he would hold her to that. Lydia couldn’t think of anything worse. She had witnessed first-hand his attempts at flirting, and even though they had managed to curb his worst impulses, it was still like watching a car crash.

“Beetlejuice,” She said, and the use of his full name sobered him a little, “I’m not ready to tell anyone else yet. I will, eventually. But I want to wait until it’s the right time. Can we keep this between us?”

His eyes went wide, and his pupils blew out to an inhuman degree. He was practically vibrating with excited energy. Lydia hadn’t seen him like this since the first time she summoned him.

“A best friend secret?” He whispered, voice low, and Lydia deftly dodged the wave of spit that flew out of his mouth on the word _friend._

“Yeah, exactly,” Lydia answered, matching his tone of voice.

Lydia held out her pinky finger to seal the deal. It took him a couple tries to grab onto it, because his arms were flapping about uncontrollably, but once he did he locked their pinkies together in an iron grip. He was making a weird growly noise from his throat, and it took him a solid minute to break the contact. Lydia almost felt silly for keeping this from him for so long. As usual, his excitement was infectious, and she couldn’t help but feel like they were co-conspirators in some large scheme.

Lydia stood, flicked off the TV, and clambered into bed. Beetlejuice took the hint and started to sink into the floor, down to his torso, where he paused.

“Lydia?” He asked, face serious despite how ridiculous he looked.

“Mhm?” She hummed.

“Thanks, for trusting me,” He said, and disappeared through the floor.


	5. Night time routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beetlejuice being extremely touch starved and sad. Some angst for your soul.

It happens every night, exactly the same, without fail. Like clockwork. Humans are creatures of habit, and he knows this. But he still hopes it plays out different tonight.

Lydia goes to bed first. She’s not a hugger, except sometimes when she indulges him and even though he knows it’s always a pity hug it still feels good. She rarely does it in front of others though, because then she would have to hug _all_ of them and she’s not about that. So she simply gives her father a kiss on the cheek and heads upstairs. Beetlejuice watches her go, and his hearing is keen enough that he knows when she’s running the tap to brush her teeth, when she’s closing the wardrobe door, the moment she jumps into bed.

He turns his attention back to the others, who are so relaxed with each other in a way he doesn’t think he will ever be able to achieve. Delia is leaning on Charles, her head on his shoulder, and Barbara is nestled in Adam’s arms. Beetlejuice doesn’t understand how they make it look so natural. He moves a hand up to his arm and, for a brief moment, he pretends it’s someone else’s. But the illusion is quickly shattered when he feels his own claws digging into his flesh, and drops the arm. Adam catches him staring, then, and Beetlejuice quickly looks away.

Whatever they have been watching on TV, Beetlejuice hasn’t been paying attention, ends. A string of advertisements begins to play, and he hears the others in the room begin to move. He knows that means the night is coming to an end, and everyone will retreat upstairs, leaving him alone. He can’t help but fiddle with the buttons of his shirt as he hopes that this time, _this time,_ it’ll be different.

Unlike Lydia, Delia is _very much_ a hugger. But in all the times he’s been staying here, she’s never touched him. He swallows as she stands and brushes herself off, sighing and asking Charles if he’s ready for bed. Beetlejuice has prepared for this. He’s put on fresh clothes, and made sure he showered, _really_ showered, and not just pretended like he does sometimes. He even wipes his face to make sure he’s not drooling, or his ears aren’t leaking goo because that happens sometimes too. He knows he’s presentable this time. He’s _sure_ he is.

But she doesn’t look at him as she opens her arms to let in the Maitlands as they give each other their usual goodnight hugs. Then, as usual, Charles reluctantly gets roped into it as well. He pulls away first too, and then everyone else separates. Adam’s hand lingers on Barbara’s waist, and he pulls her in to kiss her cheek. Delia ruffles Charles’ hair as he switches off the TV.

Nobody is looking at Beetlejuice. He knows that if he doesn’t try to get their attention now, they will just continue upstairs like they do every night. He will hear them go about their routines, then settle into bed, and then everything will be too still and too quiet. He takes a breath he doesn’t need.

“Goodnight,” He says, trying to still his hands which sometimes feel like they have a mind of their own.

They all look at him, and Delia smiles. She doesn’t take a step towards him. She doesn’t open her arms. She doesn’t beckon him to join them. She just smiles.

“Goodnight, Beetlejuice,” She says.

Charles nods at him, and the couple head up the stairs. Beetlejuice watches them go. Charles has a hand on the small of Delia’s back, and when they reach the top of the stairs, she giggles at something he says.

“Night,” Adam says, bringing his attention back to the Maitlands.

Barbara is looking at him in a way he can’t read. He’s not good at reading faces, usually, and Barbara’s is especially hard. He wonders if she knows what he’s trying to do, and pities him. Adam’s hand is still on her waist, and maybe he see’s Beetlejuice looking, because he immediately removes it and gives Barbara a look.

He’s overheard Adam complaining to his wife about Beetlejuice’s staring before, and he really has tried to stop, but it’s difficult when you’re accustomed to being invisible. Neither of them say anything now, though.

“Night,” Barbara says, echoing her husband.

The two of them turn to leave, and Beetlejuice wants to force them to stop. Make them stay with him. Ghosts don’t _need_ to sleep. And Beetlejuice doesn’t understand why anyone would _want_ to. He’s tried it before, and every time he just got horrible nightmares that were worse than being awake. Even worse than being alone.

He could make them, he knows. He could drag them back to over to him. Make them sit with him. Make them put their arms around him like they do for each other. They could sit like that all night, together, holding each other. He could make them talk to him too, if he wanted. Have all the conversations he’s had in his head, where they tell him how much he means to them. How important he is. How he’s their best friend.

He doesn’t do that. Beetlejuice lets them go, and tries not to stare as they ascend the staircase up towards the attic. He grits his teeth, and listens to the noise of the heavy attic door being shut.

Beetlejuice rubs his chest, desperately trying to fill the empty space that’s been there ever since he could remember.


End file.
